My Name Is Marla Singer
by Angelfaced DramaQueen
Summary: After Progect Mayhem:Tyler is back and he has a new plan...step into the story of Marla Singer, the secrect weapon of Fight club, and exicutioner of Opperation Chaos...meet the other pissed off gender.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Fight Club. I don't even own _A_ fight club.

A/N: Marla. Love interest? Part of the twisted plot? A prop? Just a stupid waste of space? Or the thing that started it all? What is Marla, who is Marla, there is more to her that meets the eye.

TYLER knew this……..

If you thought the mayhem was over you were sadly mistaken.

Told from Marla Singers point of view.

Enjoy.

My name is Marla Singer, sounds nice doesn't it? But what is a name really…an identification of who we are. So I've told you my name, does that mean you know me? How could you, we just met, all you know of me is a name.

Marla Singer.

I am going to tell you about my life. No real, reason, except perhaps I'd like you to know, I'd like someone on this planet to know my full story before I pass away.

Do the big death thing. And maybe I'd like to know myself, so I'm telling you a story but I'm also telling myself my story.

But actually, no that will sound too much like an autobiography.

I hate autobiographies. Celebrities and past presidents put what they recall to be happy preppy memories of childhood or contrariwise of hard times living on the street or some other crap that is just nonsense.

Like, it's the _ultimate _prostitution isn't it? Selling your life story to the world.

Selling yourself page, by page letting go of your secrets till you have nothing of your own.

Whoring that memory of your first kiss to the general public.

This story, MY life story is not for sale, I'm giving it away. Like I gave everything else of mine away, my home, my job, my dignity. My heart.

I won't bore you with my past, I don't dwell on it, and I'll skip passed it to the resent future, just after the incident that was catalogued PROJECT MAYHEM….

"Oh. My god. Tyler…what the fk have you done!?" were the exact words that whispered out of my lips as the rubble of several tower buildings piled under our eyes.

"I'm sorry Marla. I am really sorry I involved you in all this" said Tyler. He didn't look at me; he kept his eyes firmly fixed out the window and downwards at the destruction. His eyes started to fill with tears. "Oh Tyler, Tyler Tyler Tyler" was what he repeated over and over again, to himself.

"What now?" I asked, to be honest, I was scared. I had found out bout Tyler's split personality awhile ago. I had tried to help him. But I would have never imagined that it was to this scale of……epic craziness.

"I don't know Marla, Tyler knew everything. I was asleep."

Back at the Paper Street Soap factory, the space monkeys had disappeared, leaving behind nothing that suggested their presence. Tyler had trained them well.

The house was as it always had been: a standing wreck.

Enter two walking wrecks.

I helped Tyler into his room and kissed him on the forehead.

"Stay with me Marla." He croaked "Make sure I sleep this time" his voice was cracking, and I saw something I had never seen in Tyler's eyes before. Fear.

Actual fear.

I held his hand "Okay"

I waited for him to fall asleep and I stayed up and watched him like some demented mother watching her child sleep in a fever.

That night, for the first time Tyler didn't wander in his sleep, he didn't start organising anything; he didn't go to any of his night jobs.

He just slept.

When the wee hours of the morning rolled around my eyes started to droop, by four am I had nodded off as well.

I woke up with a start, Tyler's bed was empty.

Fk! I thought as I stumbled down the stairs, luckily Tyler was in the kitchen, making a cup of coffee.

"Hey Marla…." He smiled. But God, it wasn't Tyler's smile; Tyler's smile was always a sort of a smirk as if he was laughing at some thick inside joke he had just told himself. This smile, this guy...was more...hesitant; shy even. Not my type at all.

"Ah yeah…" I yawned, God I was tired.

"You should get some sleep Marla" said Tyler in his new shy voice, "There's a couch over there..."

Without thinking, I flopped onto the mouldy old settee and drifted into a snooze.

I had slept for over three hours when I felt a cold hard hand slap against my mouth and hold it shut.

My eyes shot open and I let out a strained muffled yell.

Tyler was leaning in towards me, his face red from the blood that leaked from the dozen or so fresh cuts that quilted his face, his arms were littered with theses little slits too.

His face had a demented look on it, like the old Tyler just before peaking, only this time he had this horrible toothy grin that stretched his mouth as far as it could go, his eyes, were glowing like a devils fire dancing in his soul windows.

That's what I liked to call eyes, soul windows. I'm not going to bother to explain it. You're not that stupid.

Tyler started giggling, cruel little distorted chuckles that sent me trembling, oh so creepy.

That's when I saw the knife.

A big butcher's knife was gripped in Tyler's free hand; dripping in what I could only hope was his own blood.

Tyler raised it up and spoke "_Naughty_ Marla… " He tuted "You feel _asleep_…" his breath was high and sharp "You were supposed to be _watching _Jack"

JACK?!

Tyler's soul windows glowed brighter as his face contorted into a sinister glare "He asked you to _help_ him, you _failed_. You failed at _life_ Marla" he giggled "Now all you have left to _achieve_ is death"

I could feel the panic swell up inside me. He was going to kill me.

….I think what surprised me was that I was surprised.

But what shocked me was my own fear, why was I afraid of death. I had embraced it before, craved it even. But now…

"Marla, Marla…" Tyler's voice brought me back out of my thoughts with a jump "You failed _life_. You failed _Jack_. But you won't fail _me_ Marla. I _know_ you won't. You're going to _help_ me Marla. A _new_ project has come to light _Operation Chaos_."

He leaned in closer, removed his hand from my mouth and kissed it forcefully. He brought his head back up and stared hard into my soul windows.

"_Tyler is back…and he's very, very pissed_!"

A/N: oh crap OO ….Well what do you think? Good opening? Wonder what happens next? This story entails the true potential of Marla in Tyler's plans. With prominence, you never could have imagined… Please review!


	2. Get angry

Disclaimer: Again, I do not own Fight Club.

A/N: To anyone who reviewed thanks, and I'm sorry if you thought that I didn't _get_ the film. I have seen the film nearly eight times, and I've read the book three times. It's my favourite film of all bloody time YES I DID _GET_ IT! sigh but I can see where some of you might think that I'm getting off the plot of the war within the narrator. But you see the story is about how people are trapped within their stupid little lives and how one guy escaped. This fic is about Marla's confinement, her escape and Tyler's exploitation of that freedom. Look trust me I do get the film, but this _isn't_ Fight Club. This is a fan fiction. Read the fic if you don't believe me. Give it a chance, Now Enjoy!

He didn't hurt me…he just. He just stood up and laughed.

"Ah Marla, Marla Marla Marla Marla…" Tyler rubbed a nicked and bloody hand over his head "Did I scare you? Jesus I thought you were better than that…" he tossed the knife away into the corner where it made a 'clink' sound of metal off wood.

Suddenly I felt better, no weapon.

"Christ Tyler…" I groaned, sitting up "What the _hell_!?" I snapped at him.

Tyler levelled himself with me, a spark of childish glee danced on his face "Life is a _test_ Marla… It's all a test. " He giggled "But you see no one has the text books." He laughed again, "_That was a test. _I was testing your _will _Marla. That look in your face, that terror in your eyes…" he stroked a hand down the side of my face "You have the will to live Marla. Regardless of what the fuck you say or how many stupid fucking suicide attempts you make the bottom line is you want life. You don't want to die…_yet_"

I frowned at him "Do don't know what I want Tyler. But I'll tell you what I want right now - I want out! " I got up and grabbed my bag off the grimy kitchen table "Don't you come near me again Tyler Durdan!" I fumed, anger is good. Being angry at something gives you purpose. To seek revenge or to get your own back is a task that can consume your life. Makes you wanna prove yourself, to Mom, Dad, to the whole freaking world. Without anger, you're stuck doing the same set path everyone is expected to do. Anger is the fuel that makes people like Bill Gates and all those Olympic Athletes. They don't want to make the world a better place; they want to _show_ the freaking world. Behind every modest smile is a satisfied rage. Anger is ambition.

"I'm out of here!!" I screamed "Don't dare come after me Tyler! Do you here me? I don't give a shit if you cut yourself to little microscopic bits of human butt-wipe! JUST STAY THE HELL AWAY FROM ME!!!!"

Tyler shrugged "Okay Marla. If that's what you really want, okay." He lit a cigarette and leaded against the doorframe "But I'll be here waiting for you… you know when you come back." He smiled and turned to walk back into the living room "Later Marla…"

The day was in full swing when I reached civilisation. Cars jamming up the roads, business shmucks running around, mobile phones surgically stitched to their ears, brief case glued to their other hand.

I sighed to myself. Mindless fucking zombies. Inside their business suits all those men and women who at the moment pushing passed me as if I don't exist. Inside they are all screaming. No, not all of them. Only the few who realise what kind of sorry excuse for a life they have are screaming. The smart ones who are aware of what a waste their making of their time, are screaming. The other fool multitude are oblivious, fallen under the illusion that this is normal.

Walking steadily forward, only a few individuals stop to throw me a look of contempt, wrinkling their nose at my scruffy hair and ripped black dress. If I was a lesser person, I might actually give a crap what they think. But I'm not. I learned a long long long time ago that it doesn't matter what the hell people think. I can't control what they think, so I don't even bother to make the effort. I don't need their _approval_ of my existence - _Fuck. Them_.

That's exactly what I muttered under my breath, fuck them all, fuck Tyler, and Fuck the Space monkeys, Fuck Jack. I paused and looked around, lots of people. A troop of school children preparing to cross the road, I cleared my throat and screamed at the sky scrapers that ensnared me "FUCK EVERYONE!!" I screeched.

Heads turned, frowning and pissed off. Good.

I smiled; the teacher was trying to stop the children from repeating my outburst. Ooh she was thick, looked as though she wanted to straggle me. Good. Good. Good. Good!

I grinned and walked passed them giving the kiddies a cheery wave and a smile, some waved back. The teacher glared at me. She was very angry. And I say again. GOOD!! Maybe now she'll see what a pointless job she has. Wasting her entire life in school. It's a really annoying carousel really. It bugs me, it really does. After the stressed out students finish their education they go after the job they have been observing all their lives, its familiar, its safe. Then the cowards end up teaching more students who later become teachers, and those teachers teach more students who later become teachers and so on. The whole stupid thing gives me a headache. When you're in school, you learn and memorise and take tests that decide whether you're smart or clever. Stupid tests. I never had (or heard of) tests that actually matter. And anyway isn't life a test? I froze. Fuck. That's exactly what Tyler had said….Bastard.

I had by now reached my apartment. I won't bother to describe it. All that matters is this was where I called home; this is where I made my way back to most nights. This in the tomb in which I rot.

Slamming the door, I flopped onto my dishambled bed. Generally pissed off at everyone and everything. Tyler thinks he's so fucken brilliant. Nutcase. Him and his Fight Clubs and his mindless Space monkey's and his philosophies. I've my own philosophies and I had them long before Tyler or whatever his name really is came into my life. I didn't need him. I don't need him. I never will need him. Even as I thought this tears welled up in my eyes. I knew why but I wasn't going to give into that kind of veracity. No instead, I lay on my bed, staring up at my mildew ridden ceiling… until an idea began to form…not so much an idea but the embryo of an idea… I was going to show Tyler that two could play his twisted game, that another could play it and actually play it better. I was going to show that arrogant self proclaimed messiah asshole. Anger is ambition. And right now, I was very very angry. Angry at everyone and everything, angry at my life and everyone else's life. Livid at society and all the slaves to it. It was time everyone got angry; it was time everyone got some ambition. Without the help of human butt-wipe Tyler Durdan…

A/N: the story of Fight Club is about angry men (Look at the authors note at the back of the novel if you don't believe me!)…this one is about the other pissed off gender.


End file.
